Lost and Found
by LadyTrish
Summary: When the bag was removed from her head she felt another wave of pain shoot through her brain as she tried to get accustomed to the light. A wave of nausea overcame her when she recognized the face...


**Hey guys,**

**here I am with a short one shot. I have put "His past, her present their pain" on hiatus for a while, because I can't write something constructive. I am really struggling to get rid of this blockade by trying to write something else. I hope that divine inspiration would kick in at one point and I could update my other story with something good. Until then please enjoy this little thing I have writen. I really hope you like it and pretty please drop a review so I know if I should quit writing or not :))**

**Enjoy :)**

**xoxo LadyTrish  
**

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Lost and found

Her body ached, her will was broken, and her soul cracked into a million tinny pieces, which could never be mended back. She thought she will die, she begged for the dark to claim her soon, because every second spent in the living darkness of her cell made her lose her trust in the existence of a divinity or in the existence of justice.

The young woman was now lying on one side, her hands bound to her back, her head covered with a filthy and rotten bag, while the rats nibbled at her feet. Once she would have fought their approach, kicked them until she could hear their pained squeals, as they hit the wall of her cell, but now she didn't care, she just wished that they could take the life out of her quicker. She was even to tiered to think about the happy days, the days she spent there, with them, more precisely with him. It pained her to think about them, the team, her family, but it pained her even more to think about him, to think about his warm green eyes and his joyful laugh. It brought agony to her hear to recall his unique fragrance or the way he softly used to speak her name when she was distressed and it made her cry every time when she thought about the way his arms would automatically lock around her, when he felt she was in danger, even though he knew she could take care of herself. She did not want to think about him, because it only brought tears to her exhausted eyes, and she knew that she lacked the strength to suppress her sobs. Her sobs would only bring Saleem's men or worst Saleem himself to her prison. They would laugh at the sounds coming from her body, take off the bag from her head and make her kneel in front of them while insulting her in Arabic, English even Hebrew. They wanted to humiliate her even more then, but the lack of sound crossing her lips or tears escaping her eyes would only infuriate them, and then all hell would break loose. The blows would fall like November rain, hard, cold, precise, constant, but she would not let one moan escape her, she would not show weakness, Ziva David would only close her eyes and let them physically break her.

When they were done she was more dead than alive, and she could feel the sting of the dust violently invading her wounds, she would feel the sneak path left on her skin by the gushing blood and she knew that soon she would not feel anything because the darkness would embrace her and then the rats would nibble at her wounds. When she would wake they would throw a bucket of rotten leftovers, calling it kosher food, and a mug of water, water that was muddy and warm. She was sure that the bucket containing her food was mixed with their urine; she could smell it and she knew that they had spat in her water. They knew she wouldn't touch any of it and they knew that they were weakening her more in this way then in beating her.

Ziva had accustomed to the routine of waiting, beating, unconsciousness, and starvation and she knew that it was only of matter of time until the beating would take her out of her misery. Yet today was different, today something had happened, because when the door to her cell had opened she could only hear two pairs of feet and not more as usually. They had lifted her from the floor and dragged her down the corridors she knew so well and finally forcing her into a hard seat. She did not let a groan escape her lips when she came in contact with the hard surface, although a sharp, white pain shot through her body and she knew exactly where it came from. Her back was hurting and she knew that the vertebra had not healed in the last months; it might be that it sustained more damage over the months from constant hitting.

When the bag was removed from her head she felt another wave of pain shoot through her brain as she tried to get accustomed to the light. A wave of nausea overcame her when she recognized the face, the person staying in front of her. Seeing his cracked lips, his bloody scars, his bound hands almost made her cry out in pain. He wasn't supposed to save her, be there, suffer because of her. Another nausea wave overcame and she fought the tears and her emotions, because she knew that he would die, she knew that Saleem would not let him live.

She prayed, while looking at him, she prayed that God might save him, take him far away from the chair he was sitting on, from the room he was in, from the people that were around him. She wanted to protect him so bad, was ready to die for him, but she wasn't ready to let him die, to let him want to save her. Her voice pierced the heavy silence that had settled between them after he spoke first.

"Out of everyone in the world who could have found me, it had to be you." She said and she knew that her words would slice deep into him; she could already see the effect. He did not move, but his eyes winced, a cloud of sadness settled briefly over them, dimming the green lanterns that were guiding her back to life. Her heart ached for causing him pain, she was entitled to the pain, not him, but she knew it was the only way to keep him safe, to keep him alive and away from her.

Yet her words, the harsh manner she pushed him away had no effect on this particular Italian male. He bored into her soul, fighting her with every fiber of his being, cutting her open and bleeding her pain, making her want to reach out to him and let him shroud her in a white blanket of forget and forgiveness. She tried to stay strong, she tried to show indifference, but then he said the words that froze the efforts to keep him away: „Couldn't live without you, I guess."

The words echoed in her head, and she struggled to gasp their meaning while they were boring into her soul. His eyes shone, the light of him washing over her and in that filthy cell she felt saved, she felt hope. Ziva closed her eyes, softly carving his face and his words into her heart, while the sun shone through the tinny window of the room. However her delight was short lived, the image of her capturer, a dark cloud on a bright sky, appeared in her mind and with that the will to keep him alive, to keep Tim alive. She attacked him again, another painful remark, bruising him deeper, damaging him more. „You should have stayed away".

It was a sacrifice that had to be made, and she refused to open her eyes and look him in the face, see his pain and so kill the last part of her soul. His answer made her eyes snap open and search his features : „Okay, tried. Couldn't. Just so you know, I've been given some kind of truth serum, so if there's any questions you don't want the answers to..."

She searched his face and saw honesty, and expectancy; he wanted her to ask him, his eyes begging her to ask him, because he wanted to tell her something. She parted her cracked lips and saw his face tense in anticipation, but their moment shattered like a fragile glass when Saleem barged into the room, grabbing her hair and putting a knife to her throat. She could feel the sharp blade and her limbs went numb, preparing her for death. From the corner of her eyes she could see him, his face filled with rage and desperation, so she spoke quickly, giving away a plan that was fictitious, she knew, but hoping that he would believe her and let them live, let him live.

Then he spoke, his cursed Italian mouth had to go and play the hero. She had seen Saleem's anger and she was afraid, so afraid because she knew what her capturer was afraid. Ziva wished she could die before seeing life leave Tony, she hoped that her God would have mercy on her and take her before him, because seeing him die would kill her. Yet Saleem's intentions remained suspended in the dust of the room and her prayer ceased when she saw the round hole in her nightmare's head. His eyes lay open, looking at the grey ceiling, his mouth slightly ajar, blood slowly making its way out of the raw gap. She closed her eyes, exhausted, glad that Saleem had died, grateful that Tony was alive and knowing that if there weren't tanks out there they would probably never make it alive. Yet she was content with the fact that she would feast her eyes on him another moment, making sure that he was the last image she took with her when death would claim her.

Her thoughts came to a sudden stop, when she felt her hands free and when the noise reached intensity that startled her. Tim and Tony helped her up, and she tried to walk, but her legs would not obey her; she felt too weak to walk. Gibb's face greeted them and she smiled shyly for the first time in months, because she now hoped, hoped that she would see the sun again and she would hear the rain fall in Washington, smell the September wind and taste proper food.

They ran from the camp as fast as they could, stopping only in the vicinity of the plane. She collapsed at one point, so Gibbs took her in his arms and carried her into the plane. No paramedic attended her wounds, and the only thing she wanted was water. Words were not being exchange and the only sound that could be heard in the plane was Ziva's gulps. She dried two bottles of water only to vomit a few seconds later. Her whole body convulsed violently and Gibbs held her down, while Tony rubbed circles on her back. She finally fell asleep under the watchful eye of the three men. None of them wanted to sleep, they wanted to watch over, make sure she would rest, although they were sure that sleep would not bring any release.

Tim fell asleep soon after, leaving only Gibbs and Tony to watch over Ziva. Tony studied her intensely, and every time he discovered another scar he would wince, not daring to think what was hidden beneath her clothes. She was skinny, to skinny for his liking and her face pale, dark rings carved under her eyes, while her once shinny hair, lay tangled and dirty around her head. It broke his heart to look at her, and he wanted to go back, and empty his gun in Saleem's lifeless corpse.

When she screamed, all three men jumped from their seats, trying to wake her from her nightmare. When they woke her, she startled and covered her head with her arms, bringing pain to them. They had never seen her so broken. She fell in and out of sleep, every time waking with a scream, making him want to jump out of the plain. When he saw her bewildered eyes, he felt the walls of the plane caving in on him, and he never felt so helpless in his entire life.

Once back in Washington, Gibbs had insisted she should go back to headquarters and let Ducky examine her. She had nodded absentmindedly and Tony nearly suffocated when he saw her blank expression.

Not even Abby's hug managed to get her out of her trance, and Tony had to sit aside only to be able to shed bitter tears in private.

She went down to Ducky's morgue and let her examine her. The medical examiner had attended her wounds as best he could, begging her to see a doctor; she had only nodded. When done with his examination he had let her shower in the NCIS locker-room, letting her breath for the first time. The hot water had been a blessing to her skin, massaging some of the tension out of her body. Her heart struggled violently in her ribcage, and she could feel the knot in her throat and the stinging in her eyes. She slid down the cold shower wall and really cried for the first time in months. She didn't know if she cried from relief or from the pain, or even because she was ashamed of what she had done four months ago when she had chosen her father, her director over Gibbs, NCIS and more importantly Tony. Her heart ached, knowing that she and he would never be the same again. She knew that at one point he would start hating her for what she had done, for betraying his trust and she knew that at one point he would regret that he had not let her there to die, that he had risked his life for her. This acknowledgment had brought a new wave of tears suffocating her and she wished that death would have taken her in Somalia.

When she returned to the bull pen, she already knew that they knew. She saw Ducky's face, she saw Abby crying into a corner, Tim holding her, she saw Gibb's enraged face and she saw the dent in Tony's file cabinet, yet no Tony. Ziva quietly turned on her heal and walked out of the office, feeling suffocated by their gaze. Once out into the open, she wanted to run, yet her feet were too weak. She felt ashamed that they knew, that he knew, that he will always have that look in his face. For the first time in her life she did not know what to do, and where to find answers, but she knew that she had to find him and stop him.

The angry noise let her to the parking lot where he was hitting a wall, and she saw the blood coming out of his knuckles. Swiftly she walked towards him, and grab his arm, with more force then she intended. He turned around surprised, and she could see the tears staining his face. Carefully she extracted a paper tissue out of her pocket and wrapped it around his knuckles, while he looked at her, no words spoken. He watched her every move and he could only think of irony of the situation. Ziva David had been to hell and back, beaten, burned and raped repeatedly, yet she was concerned about his well being and cleaning his wounds in a parking lot.

When she was done, she wanted to leave him there but he grabbed her, softly cupping her checks bringing her eyes at the same level. Yet she avoided his gaze, afraid to look and see pity.

"Look at me, please." He said and she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his.

Raw emotions came from his eyes, she could see anger and fear, concern and regret and something else that she could not define, yet she was glad she did not find pity in them.

He ran his thumb across her check, feeling the heeling bruises and her bones. She had never looked so fragile and he wanted to embrace her and never let her go. For the first time since he had seen her it dawned on him that she was alive, that she was in Washington, breathing, hurting, and living.

"You're alive! Ziva I thought I lost you. But you're here and you're alive." He spoke, chocked with emotions.

"I'm sorry Tony." She finally whispered and she caught him by surprise a puzzled look plastered all over his bruised face.

"For what?" he asked and she let out a shaky laugh.

"For everything I did, for not trusting you, for hurting you." She spoke, her tears spilling wildly from her tiered eyes.

He pulled her into a hug and she gave in, clinging to him, crying in his chest, while he rubbed her back. None of them knew how long they had stayed in that embrace, but she finally shifted, so he let go of her fragile frame. She wanted to go back to the main building, but he pulled her back again, cupping her face once more.

She looked at him puzzled, making eye contact, searching for an answer. What she saw in his eyes was a fire she had never seen before, and the determinacy she had missed so much in the last month.

"Ziva, I promise you, I will personally put a bullet through deputy director David' head for what he has done to you." He spoke, kissing her forehead tenderly.


End file.
